January 2023 - PLANETARY STATUS REPORT!

MP3: https://planetarystatusreport.com/mp3/20230120_Embrace_Your_Penis.mp3

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I was …

I was the Stroglon Lord, seeking styg from the beach whores who sold their iced coffee near the pier. I had the magic dust and rode a bike powered by cocaine and rage, and there was peace.

I was the chief whale herder of sector-99 YANKEE. They gave me a Waffle House and a busty wife and a lifetime supply of ale. I kept watch at night for the boovula banshees and set my traps for those whiskey apes that were watching from the street, and there was stew for all.

I was lost in the jungle of contempt, working long hours on Wall Street, trading oil for gold for slut-grease. They had me live the condo life, in Jersey, and take the train to the city each day. And when I was done all the old style kingpins paid homage, and provided sauce.

I was a champion, battling demons and robots near Grinken Town. I had 7 scurvy brides, all hooked on oxy and vodka and lost in a smelly panties kind of wastrel life. One day Hurgen found me, and tore out my kidney, and cracked my skull to harvest street protein. Living hard.

I was feared, and told tales of the WEST and the crack-head cowboys of Malibu. My home was on the water, and I surfed to the noise of forgetfulness. We would drink old wine and dance near camp fires, and make love like island squirrels. And you dreamed of cream pie weddings.

I was mad, insane, when the castle fell. My queen took her time, and then fled with the knights to the Holiday Inn. She left me beaten and bloody near the old well, the one our child fell into – and little Timmy’s ghost came to haunt me, to steal my heart wax. I did not complain.

I was broken, on the sidewalk, covered in ice and snow. I cried for help, as the drivers passed by, and I was mocked by the pharisees and found wanting before God. My veins were split open, and my blood froze on the street, and the wild dogs of S’compton came by to finish me off.

I was lost in paradise. I lived among the petty travelers, feeding on their putrid dreams, and wicked nightmares. I took my time with the sultry wives of Levittown, and hunted sky hawks with my crossbow. No one looked me in the eyes, no one called my friend. All my poo was gold.

I was a philosopher, a sage. I got paid to bring glad tidings to the town folk. But when my heart turned Cassandra? – they chased me from the valley, stealing my corn, my Wookie lover, my horses and sheep. I ran all night just to fall victim to a rabid cougar, she new how to love.

I lived among the skin walkers. They taught me tricks and spells, and all I had to give them was my soul. They savored my broken self, they suckled upon my lost romance, they took pleasure in my rhapsody of disarray and pain. When I was used up? – they sold me to the Mexicans.

I was chosen to rule the lands west of Grymm. I wore a codpiece made of wrought iron and my fists were glowing diamonds. My people lived in fear of my drunken stance, and my belligerence knew no bounds. We ate meat cakes and sailed to the lost isles of Tred. We loved and laughed.

I was made to eat the dinosaur scat, and to climb the trees like some cheap ass monkey. I didn’t have a coat or shoes, I had bark and a willingness to feed on the river wolves. I was told to set fire to the woods, and that a great wave would cleanse the lands. I did all as told.

I was a crack head and smack freak. I ate roaches with the vets down by the mission. We sang songs of lost nations and cities burned to dust. We traded tales of down range and midgets and the brothels of Pusan. And we laughed at the jaded darkness, because it was our only fire.

I was a curse to the wicked. I spent my nights, covered in dolphin grease, hunting the freaks of West Hollywood. I followed them to the valley, and then up the bygone highways and lost worlds of a dead landscape, and my miracle lover stroked her boovula, as we drove faster.

I was hurt by my fast time lover. She wore a skirt made of turtle skin, and her kiss was like a dagger covered in muskrat blood. She’d tell me “you are my coyote master”, and I’d say “you are my sugar plumb crystal”. And we would dance to the noise of cities on fire, scared fools …

I was a meadow flower, when the mountains wept and the vestal virgins bathed in ancient oils. I watched as the commie-scum of SECTOR-76 fed on babies and rabies and cats made of glycerin. I kept company among the crows, and I too sang of urban glory, as I ordered my latte.

ASH and TRASH